Trigger Warning

I’m not defined by the triggers,
I can handle myself,
I am strong, I am…. lying.
When a river flows underground,
you can deny its existence,
but it is still there, just below the surface.
Just below the surface. A shadow, a specter,
a reality that haunts and stays there,
threatening, waiting to be revealed
in all its gruesome glory.
Shame, stigma, embarrassment,
they better not know,
conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know,
now I empathize with Elsa.
He calls it a useless tantrum,
he calls it meaningless drama,
she calls it lack of control,
she calls it stress reaction,
she calls it drama.
My own underground river
flows in torrents, demolishing everything in its path,
waiting for its chance to break the surface
so that I’ll break a different kind of surface,
again, and again, and again, and again.